


With Mine Own Hands

by sithmarauder



Series: Metamorphoses [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, Kylo Ren Venerates Padme Instead of Anakin, M/M, Politicians Are Dicks, Senator Ben, Senator Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Padmé Amidala had constructed an image reinforced with titanium, and she had kept going, kept speaking, even when the forces of the galaxy had conspired to destroy her.  She had endured, she had pushed on, and Ben couldn’t allow himself to do any less, to be any weaker.</i>
</p><p>Aka a shadowy evening for the AU wherein Ben Organa is a senator for the New Republic, following in his grandmother's footsteps, and Poe Dameron is still the best damn pilot in the Resistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Mine Own Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has inspired some incredible fanart:
> 
> [With Mine Own Hands](http://benamidalaas.tumblr.com/post/140467913196/amazing-fanart-for-my-new-senator-ben-fic-with) by [Lady Shiroshika](http://lady-shiroshika.deviantart.com/)
> 
>    
> So I'm fairly sure this AU (and the amazing feedback it has received) as wrecked me, for I now have thousands of words for a general universe outline and two large fics in the planning. For now, however, here is another tiny moment in the life of Senator Ben. I spent way too long squinting at this piece and absolutely hating every aspect of it before my friend told me to just post the damn thing, so blame her.
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's _Richard II_.

 

>   _You have stardust in your veins, darling. That’s why, sometimes, it hurts to breathe._
> 
> \- Fragments of a fragile universe | [p.d](http://lostcap.tumblr.com) (via [lostcap](http://lostcap.tumblr.com/))

 

There were many in the galaxy who believed that there was no point in caring about what one wore. _Everyone is equal_ , they would whisper. _Why should a person be judged on what they wear or how they wear it? What difference could it possibly make?_

Those people, Ben thought as he slid his arms out of the wide sleeves of the intricately embroidered outer robe his attendant held, were idiots—naïve idiots who had no understanding of the world of galactic politics and the minds of people who would far rather cast their eyes to the vague horizon than see the shadows below it. He wondered if they did it on purpose at this point, ignoring the danger to focus on the inane, for surely no one in this damn system could be so completely _foolish_ as to ignore the advancement of the First Order and the danger they represented.

But they were, and they did, and as Chancellor Villecham struck him down day after day, declaring that the resources of the New Republic were better spent on improving trade relations with the neutral systems, Ben wondered what it would take to make them see, to make them _listen_ , or if they would dither and turn their heads until the First Order grabbed hold and forced a blade to their throats.

In more private moments, when he was alone with his broiling thoughts and the darkness that lurked in the back of his mind, watching, he wondered if he would be alive to see his mother’s warnings come to pass, or if his strength would give out, leaving him at the mercy of those who wanted nothing more than to bring him to his knees, to _silence_ him in any way they could. These thoughts were always so much worse when he was alone, clawing at the defences he had built up over time, and he dismissed his attendants when he felt them whispering to him again, trying to clamp down on his temper when one of them, a young human male, asked him if he was sure.

“I can manage,” Ben said, and something in his tone must have struck a warning chord with the man for he hurriedly bowed and backed out, but it wasn’t until Ben heard the distinct slide of the outer chamber door that he allowed himself to sag, his shoulders dropping and his head falling against the palm of his hand. He breathed, in and out, wondering how his grandmother had borne this weight, this crushing burden that came in so many forms.

She had, though, and that was the thing. Padmé Amidala had constructed an image reinforced with titanium, and she had kept going, kept speaking, even when the forces of the galaxy had conspired to destroy her. She had endured, she had pushed on, and Ben couldn’t allow himself to do any less, to be any weaker. Villecham wanted peace, and maybe, had he not loathed the man so, Ben would have respected him for his dedication to his principles, but in Villecham he saw the same thing that had destroyed the Jedi: complacency and ignorance. Peace was an admirable goal, but it was not always possible. The Jedi had refused to act, to take out threats when they could have because of a misguided attempt at preserving peace even as they waged war, and in attempting to preserve that fragile peace, that fragile  _code_ , they had remained pliant in all the ways that mattered as they waited for the enemy to reveal itself, and when that enemy had finally emerged from the shadows it had destroyed the Jedi as surely as it had thousands of years ago.

History always repeated itself, Ben thought grimly as he pushed himself away from the wall, stepping deliberately over to the mirror and the wash basin that had been left by it, and it was the fools who refused to acknowledge it that were doomed to repeat its terrible lessons. Ben could only hope that Villecham’s dedication did not weaken them as it had the Jedi, and that perhaps, unlike the Jedi, Villecham could be persuaded to see reason.  After today’s meeting he doubted it, but even as the representative from Coruscant had scolded him like one would an uppity child Ben had held firm, thinning his mouth as he had retorted that refusing to listen to reason was not _strength_.

“The First Order grows more powerful by the day,” Ben had said, pitching his voice so that it would ring sharply throughout the large chamber, as he imagined his grandmother would have. “Will you wait until they slaughter your families to act?”

Now, far from the strength he had portrayed in the senate chambers, Ben felt only exhaustion. He reached forward, dipping one of the cloths that had been left out into the lukewarm water, and as he brought the cloth to his face, washing away the minimal paint (he never wore much, not like his grandmother had when she had been Naboo’s queen, but sometimes, when he needed the extra assurance, he would add the red to his lips and cheeks and think, _perhaps she stands with me now_ ), he almost felt like he was removing armour, and he was all the weaker for it.

He did not touch the intricate style his hair had been woven into, the dark waves having been pulled back cleanly in the front and secured while the back was styled into a series of loose and intricate curls and loops that looked far more effortless than they had actually been, but he did remove the silver baubles that had been woven into the back, as well as the delicate silver chains that had loosely encircled the top of his head, before using the Force to float them over to the skilfully carved box that usually housed them, ignoring the exasperated voice in his head that told him the Force wasn’t to be used for such petty things. He then grimaced briefly at his reflection before turning away from it, not liking the dark edges the shadows in the half-lit room gave to his face (his eyes), grabbing one of the dark silken dressing robes that hung by the sliding door.

For a moment he stood there silently, running his fingers over the soft fabric. He thought of Yavin IV, of towering temples and rushing rivers and days that seemed so much simpler in retrospect, but he pushed those thoughts away easily, opting instead to carefully remove the middle layer of his senatorial dress, unhooking the lightsaber that hung at his side with deft hands, the weapon always concealed when he stepped out in public and the glowing yellow blade remaining sheathed, and when he walked into his empty bedchambers, securing the ties of the robe, he only spared a moment to look outside the window at the bright nighttimes lights of Republic City, letting the teeming lives he felt below wash over him—the people he fought for, whether they knew it or not, and whether he liked them or not.

Luckily, he knew enough not to expect gratitude from anyone.

The exhaustion weighed heavily on his mind and body as he sat carefully on the edge of his bed, but he didn’t give into it, not yet. Instead he straightened his shoulders and spent a few moments running through old techniques, knowing that he must remain strong, casting his senses out to locate any potential danger or unwelcome presences as he reached into one of the intricate drawers by his overly large bed. His grandmother hadn’t been Force-sensitive, he knew that, but he sometimes wondered if that was such a bad thing, even though he admitted that it could be a boon when someone was planning something that could harm him.

It gave him an edge over the other senators, too, one they hated, and if he was occasionally unscrupulous with some of the techniques his uncle had taught him, well. It was their own fault for being foolish enough to warrant the little tugs and pushes.

Ben’s thoughts abruptly shifted gears when he found what he had been looking for, a soft noise of pleasure leaving his mouth as he withdrew a palm-sized holographic recorder. He spent a moment running his fingers over its smooth surface before he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, and activated it.

Poe’s hologram smiled, and Ben breathed out in what could have been relief or affection or _need_ even as his fingers closed over the device, the image distorting for a moment when he briefly covered the light source with his thumb. Poe wasn’t here, of course, _couldn’t_ be here, not with all he had to do, and Ben felt his frustration surge again before he beat it down savagely. He hated this, hated being apart for so long, and when the frustration weighed upon him too much he often found himself fantasising about how _good_ it would feel to drag Villecham out of the senate chambers and slam his face against a window, snarling that _this is what you have to lose, this and more, this is what you_ will _lose if you do not listen to me_. Poe would only look at him with worry and disappointment and frustration if he did such a thing, however, and Ben would never allow himself to jeopardise his image like that, so he swallowed the urge and focused on the hologram, on Poe’s voice as he laughed and repeated a message Ben had heard many, many times before. It almost didn’t matter _what_ Poe was saying, as Ben did not listen to the exact words, but he listened to the cadence of Poe’s voice as the hologram laughed and waved and rolled its eyes.

Ben smiled when the hologram of Poe ran his hand through his hair, the expression tinged with exhaustion and the remnants of irritation but fond all the same, and he wondered if his grandmother had had support like this; if she had once looked at his grandfather the same way, before the dark times. He thought she must have, but she had also had the support and friendship of the man whose house name Ben still carried with him in private; the man his mother knew as her true father, whatever her blood said. Ben didn’t have that, but he did have Commander Sella, a firm presence at his side and another loud voice to add to a shared cause, as well as the more tentative voices of a few more sympathetic and far-sighted senators, and here, in the darkness of the night, he also had Poe, the shadow-chasing light in his mind, even if Poe wasn’t always physically present—Poe, whose presence brought pure relief to Ben, who represented a steady point of light in the darkness, even though Ben was more than aware of Poe’s many flaws and the darkness in him, too.

Thankfully, Poe’s steady presence and Sella’s dedication were enough to keep him steady. The fight, getting up every day and donning his armour before marching off to war as sure as any soldier, listening to fools argue over things that ultimately didn't mater—it was all worth it, even as he was faced with the ridicule and shadowy backhands of his peers and the tainted reputation of the estranged mother he still fought to help. More than that, however, he had the legacy of House Organa and Padmé Amidala at his side, guiding him and giving him leverage and sway over those who would seek to silence him. Bail Organa’s name was still heavily respected in the Senate, but to Ben the name _Organa_ was overshadowed by a much stronger one, by the chosen name of the woman who had laid the backbone for the Rebellion and ensured its success not just by giving birth but by fighting and fighting and _fighting_ during her life, by refusing to give up and give in. He knew this much from the records and the rare holograms he had been able to dig up in his years of searching, old relics from people who had still cared to remember her, whose lives she had irrevocably touched.

Sometimes the gaps still felt like too much, so much having been destroyed by the Imperials, but when he was standing in front of the Senate, wielding an image and name like the weapons and shields they were, he thought he knew her after all, and he almost lived for the times where they said his own name out loud, drinking it in as it echoed throughout the chamber. He hoped it inspired shame and fear in his enemies, a throwback to a time when a different voice had been calling for change, and he used it like he used his appearance and his family’s legacy.

“Senator Amidala,” he whispered as Poe’s hologram blew him a kiss.

 _“Senator Amidala_ ,” Villecham’s stern and even voice echoed in his mind.

Ben switched off the hologram, casting the room into darkness once again, and watched the lights of Republic City as they danced under the cover of night for a few moments before sliding under the covers of his too-large bed and closing his eyes to them, letting the gentle, teeming life of the planet sweep over him, not overwhelming as they often could be, but soothing.

He would continue to push, to speak, to stand with the looming shadows of his family legacy at his back until the Senate either listened to him or succeeded in cutting him down. He was more than just an Organa, or even a Skywalker: he was the direct descendant of Padme Naberrie, of Queen and Senator Amidala of the Naboo, and he would not allow people and this new Senate, her legacy, to forget her name—his name—as readily as they were trying to, shadowed though the Naboo were by the legacy Emperor Palpatine had left behind. He would make them see, he would make them _hear_ , and when they finally rallied against the First Order he would have the satisfaction of everyone recognising that his family had been right all along.

The new Senator Amidala would accept nothing less.

**Author's Note:**

> Senator Amidala has a lot of things on his mind, and I'm so deep in senator hell it's not even funny. So, yes! Surprise! Ben goes by Senator Amidala for reasons that I'll go into in-depth in the two bigger fics I have planned (though I'd be happy to answer any questions about it--I promise, it's not as lame as it probably seems). Also, he has a lightsaber! Yes! And the blade is yellow! Anyway, please, _please_ let me know what you think  <3 I have two big fics to write for this AU now and I'm going to need all the encouragement I can get (especially since I plan on making them read better than this fic).
> 
> Ben's briefly seen senatorial outfit in this fic looks like [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/fa1b9cfff519f97b218bf41ba8b9bf66/tumblr_no37epKHrM1ra6o88o1_500.jpg), only coloured with black, purple, and blue, and without the fuzzy rim on the sleeves. His hair is a combination of [these two](http://www.thewomanonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ancient-greek-hairstyles-5.jpg) styles.
> 
> Ben's silk night robe looks like [Rose's dressing robe](https://threadbythread.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/roserobe1.jpg) from the movie _Titanic_ , only not sheer.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://deadhabsburgs.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
